


You Put Me Right

by Sherlock1110



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bottom Sherlock, Consensual, Devolping Relationship, Dom John, Dom/sub, Dominance, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Johnlock - Freeform, Kneeling, M/M, Paddling, Punishment, Spanking, Sub Sherlock, Submission, Top John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-04-17 14:23:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4669919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John almost dies because Sherlock runs off with John after a killer without first informing Lestrade where they where going and why. A guilt ridden Sherlock who is not use to caring and is a having a hard time dealing with feeling guilt for the first time in his life, ask John to take charge. Sherlock agrees not to do anything without Johns approval and to do whatever John tells him to.  </p><p>Not knowing how long this will last, John takes the opportunity to make sure Sherlock takes care of himself and to teach him some basic social skills/manners. Sherlock rebels but he did promise and a promise is a promise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Guilt

**Author's Note:**

> beta read by sherlockian4evr

You Put Me Right

 

Chapter 1

John and Sherlock had been in a relationship for just over 3 years. They'd started off as flat mates 7 years ago and everybody had always said what a cute couple they made. John always, always responded with I'm not gay. Sherlock had set out to prove him wrong and they'd never looked back.

Seeing John sat in his armchair holding his mug of tea that night broke Sherlock's heart and he couldn't work out why. He'd always claimed he didn't have a heart, but the sight of John, looking that little bit older, made him clench in a way he never would have thought possible.

_“Sherlock, let's wait for Greg.”_

_“He'll be forever, John. He's with my brother.”_

_“Call him and we'll find out. I'm not going after this psycho alone.”_

_“You won't be alone. You'll have me.”_

_With that Sherlock had taken off, not even thinking through the consequences. Did he ever? John had of course given chase. He couldn't let the mad man run off on his own._

_At some point they'd got cut off from one another. Sherlock took the more familiar route across the roofs of London as he planned his place to intercept the killer. It was only by sheer dumb luck he jumped over an alleyway where there was a loud bin bouncing off a nearby wall. Something had been thrown at it hard._

_It had taken him a few moments to work out who was on the floor by the bin._

_It was the suspect he'd been chasing, and there was John, revved up and angry._

_He could see the way his shoulders rose and fell with each breath. He had clearly over exerted himself in throwing the much younger man into the bin._

_That was when the situation seemed to flip and the man on the floor rolled and had his gun aimed at John before the doctor even had the chance to reach for his SIG._

_John's arms very slowly rose up, his breaths still coming heavily. How far had he run since they'd lost sight of one another?_

_Seeing red at John being in such a vulnerable position, Sherlock jumped for the nearest ladder and swung his way down to the ground, not caring how much noise he made._

_The noise was both good and bad. It was good because the suspect looked up. It was bad because so did John and he was caught off guard as the murderer fired._

_Sherlock cannoned into the doctor just quick enough to push him out of the way and onto the hard, cold ground of London's alleyway._

_The killer turned and Sherlock jumped up putting himself between the gun and John despite the older man's yelled protests._

_The next gunshot landed just to the side of John who was scrambling to his feet._

_Sherlock had had enough of this idiot and lashed out with his fist, aiming for his forearm._

_The resulting yell and the clatter of the gun on the floor was supported by a relieved sigh from the doctor._

_Sherlock reached for the gun and cocked it once more. How was this thing still working? It was an old WW2 revolver._

_John was next to him in seconds, his SIG loaded and aimed._

_The doctor had to put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder as he stepped forward and pressed the revolver to the slightly shorter man's temple._

_All three men had been relieved to see Greg round the corner in a hurry, panting hard._

_He took the gun off Sherlock, but otherwise completely ignored him. He glanced at John, “you ok?”_

_The doctor nodded._

_“Good.”_

_He glared angrily at Sherlock who was in a state of dazed confusion._

_“I'd put away that SIG you don't carry before the armed officers come around that corner.”_

_Sherlock knew there and then he'd screwed up. He should have gone to John. He should have been the one to ask if he was ok, not Greg. He was John's best friend… his boyfriend. Wasn't that what boyfriends did?_

_“Get out of here, you two. You can drop by the station tomorrow to give your statements.”_

_“Thanks Greg.” John marched passed Sherlock but not before putting his hand at the small of his back and steering down the darkness of the alleyway and into the street-lighted road in central London._

_He hadn't spoken in the cab on the ride home and had even paid when it stopped outside 221._

Sherlock shivered slightly at the memory and put the kettle on again. He had to make John feel better and tea was the only way he could think of doing that, despite the fact he already had a cup.

He entered the living room with the mug and slowly walked over to John like he would lash out at any moment. When the doctor noticed, he glanced up and smiled, a gentle smile that made Sherlock feel even worse.

“That for me?”

Sherlock nodded dumbly.

“Perfect timing. This one's empty.”

He gave him his mug and, silently, Sherlock took it to the kitchen. When he'd put it away, he went and sat next to John watching him out of the corner of his eye like he might disappear at any moment.

At half 11, Sherlock was dozing off in his chair. John gently rocked him. “You coming to bed, babe?”

Sherlock just looked up at him, his eyes haunted by something. John took him by the hand and led him to the bedroom. He just followed his blogger silently. Sherlock also just stood there beside the bed as John undressed him and pulled a tee shirt over his head, feeling oddly redundant.

He struggled to sleep that night and when he eventually did fall asleep, he was plagued by nightmares. They progressively got worse and eventually when he was sat over John's dead body bleeding excessively, he screamed.

He distantly heard a voice, but couldn't quite grasp it as he lay thrashing around in the sheet making him panic all the more.

“Sherlock… Sherlock? Wake up! Come on, babe, please!”

Sherlock's eyes snapped open and he sat bolt upright. “John!”

“Yeah, yeah I'm here.”

Sherlock sobbed something and John grabbed him, pulling him in close and holding him tight. That's not how it's supposed to be! John should be the upset one! He should be holding John, not the other way around. They sat up together with Sherlock gently sobbing quietly into John's neck, without him knowing the reason why, until he eventually drifted off again.

John kissed the top of his head and moved to lay him back down again, but the loss of contact made the younger man whimper and the doctor understood that the contact was probably keeping the nightmares at bay. He shifted back against the headboard with the overgrown toddler in his arms and tugged the sheet up over them both.

The following morning found Sherlock following the doctor around everywhere. He ate the toast John put in front of him and smiled sadly at the mug of tea.

“Greg wants us in to do statements.”

Sherlock nodded and swirled the bottom lump of tea around in his mug.

“You alright, babe?”

He nodded again.

“What time do you want to go?”

“Whenever you want to.”

***

When they sat in Greg's office giving statements, the DI was initially snippy with the detective, but when there were no snippy remarks back and just a sad smile as if he were agreeing with him, he realised how much the whole thing had effected the younger man and he lightened up.

Sherlock gave his statement as quietly and concisely as he could and then just stared at the floor between his feet while John gave his, and unseen by the detective, was sending odd looks his way.

“Sherlock, wait a moment,” Greg called after him as the other two men stood to leave.

“I'm gonna go and grab a coffee. Do you want tea?”

Sherlock shook his head with a whispered, “No, thanks.”

“I'll wait for you out the front.”

He nodded this time, speechless.

“Sit down, Sherlock.”

He dropped into his seat like strings had been cut.

“Now what's the matter?” He didn't respond, just played with the seam in his sleeve.

“Look, Sherlock, I know I was pretty pissed with you yesterday, but if there's something up you can talk to me.”

“There's nothing. I'm fine.” Greg stood up, determined to test a theory, he wandered around his desk and leant against it just in front of Sherlock. He leant forward and ruffled his hair, apart from looking confused Sherlock didn't demand he back off.

“Now, you try telling me you're fine when I've just petted your hair like a dog and you just look distant. Where's the snarky remarks?”

He glanced up at the DI and shrugged.

“You're usually buzzing after a case. Did we miss something?”

He shook his head. “No we didn't miss anything. He was our guy. I thought you said you had infallible evidence.”

“Yeah, yeah we do. So what is it?”

“I don't know what it is. There's no case satisfaction this time.”

“That can't be it.”

“I just feel like…” he hated talking about emotions. He shook his head and leant forward so his head was in his hands. “I've run into loads of situations where I nearly get myself killed. I never think twice. Why is this different? Why do I feel like there's a hole in my stomach that will just get bigger the more I see him?”

Greg didn't need to ask who 'him' was. “Because this time it wasn't you who nearly got killed.”

Sherlock glanced up.

“You're in love with him aren't you?”

Sherlock shrugged.

“Come on mate, it's obvious to anyone with 2 eyes. You love him and he damn well feels the same about you. That's why he's always there and never lets you run off and do crazy shit alone.”

“But this pit-”

“It's guilt Sherlock. You need to tell him how you feel.”

“But we… you know, share a bed and stuff.”

“Yes. You're in a relationship, but have you told him how you feel?”

“It's not that… it’s…” he trailed off again.

“You need him to take control?”

***

When they got back from the Yard that afternoon, John had had enough of the silence and concerned looks. He decided to have it out with the detective.

“What is it, Sherlock? You've been looking at me like I shouldn't exist for 2 days now.”

He took a deep shuddering breath. “Punish me, John.”

John choked on nothing as he glanced at the detective leant against the doorway. His thin frame was trembling. “I'm sorry?”

“I'm serious. Punish me for being reckless, for not calling the police, for losing my temper, for shouting at Anderson, for something that you feel like. Just please, please, please make this horrible feeling go away!”

He dropped to his knees and John was there so fast his pants could have been on fire. He gathered the younger man in his arms much like he did last night and rocked him gently as he attempted to stifle heart-wrenching sobs.

“It was partially my fault, just after I lost you I saw him disappear down that alley, but rather than wait for you or back up, I followed at a distance so I didn't lose him, but I kicked a coke can and he spotted me.”

“But I… but I…” he trailed off again. “Oh God, John I'm so sorry. I should have been there.”

“You were there. You saved me.”

“Just.”

“What we do is dangerous, babe, hence why I'm still here.” He pulled out from John's grip and sat back against the wall.

“I need stopping John, I always have. But now I nearly got you killed. I will not let that happen again. Punish me for whatever you want.”


	2. What comes next

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by sherlockian4evr

“I will do whatever you say. I'll do nothing without your consent. I need rules, John. I may not like them, but I need them, if not to keep myself safe, but you.” He sobbed brokenly again. “I need you to be safe because when you're safe everything is all okay.”

John took a deep, shaky breath and nodded. As reluctant as he was, the younger man was right. He needed this, today wasn't his fault, not completely. They'd both made mistakes, but in the past he had been reckless like he had been today and it had totally been his fault. If he wasn't clear where the line was he wouldn't know in the future. He could also use this to his advantage, keep the younger man out of bother and try to instil some manners into him. Kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.

“Okay, I will punish you, Sherlock, because you are right. You do go too far and maybe sometimes you forget yourself. But this is for you as much as for me, ok? When the punishment has happened, it's happened and it's over. No more of this guilt nonsense. But first we are going to get a cup of tea and go and settle on the sofa.”

John stood up with a groan and Sherlock watched him cautiously.

“I'm not just going to hit you, babe, and I'm fine. Honestly, you were closer to getting hit than I was. Almost gave me a heart attack.”

Sherlock looked even guiltier at that.

John realised he needed his mind distracted and reassurances weren't going to work. He stood up straight and his arms moved behind his back. Sherlock watched him and as soon as he recognised what John had done, he straightened himself.

“Go to the kitchen and make two cups of sweet tea. Then bring them to the sofa.”

He opened his mouth, John interrupted before he got the chance to say anything, it didn't matter what it was. “That's an order.”

He stood up and John cleared his throat, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Crawl. I like watching your arse wiggle.”

With an odd smile Sherlock sunk to his knees and crawled towards the kitchen. John couldn't help but pat his arse as he went passed.

The doctor collapsed in his chair, waiting. For some reason, despite the lack of experience on either part, he knew this could work. For both of them.

John watched him curiously when he came in and placed both mugs on the table. John might have been mistaken, he had never done anything like this before, but the younger man looked like he wanted to kneel, but he was waiting for an order to either agree with his want-need or counteract it.

Sherlock unsure was not something John relished in, but he could fix that.

“Kneel.”

He dropped like a puppet whose strings had been cut. His knees hit the floor, but he remained gracefully upright.

“Come closer, between my legs.”

He shuffled forward and looked up with big puppy dog eyes peering up at him.

John dropped his hand and cupped his cheek. Sherlock actually leant into it.

“Pass me my tea.”

He obeyed at once and passed his tea over, then rested his head back against his leg.

“I said I'd punish you, Sherlock. That doesn't mean physically. I will only ever lay a hand on you if you have consented fully.”

“I consent now, John.”

“No, you think you do because you're overrun with guilt. You don't like pain. You just put up with it when you're hurt.”

“I'm not supposed to like being punished.”

“Agreed, but disliking it and learning a lesson are two different things.”

“Not mutually exclusive.”

“No, but they should be. I will not physically hurt you until you are feeling ok in your head again, Sherlock.”

“But-”

Time to test a theory. “Are you arguing with me?”

His head dropped. “No, John.”

“Right then, well this punishment will get rid of the guilt you feel. Go and kneel with your nose in the corner, hands behind your back.”

Sherlock's eyes widened.

“Don't like the sound of that, huh? Well I said punishment didn't have to be painful.”

“John, you can't be serious-”

He folded his arms. He was very serious.

“I was under the impression you were going to do as you are told.” His tone was one Sherlock wouldn't argue with on a normal day, let alone after the conversation that had just transpired.

“Yes, John,” he said hurriedly. “Sorry, John.”

He spun on the spot and crawled to the corner.

John watched him for a long while. Well it probably felt like a long while for the younger man. It was more like 2 minutes when he began fidgeting.

“Keep your hands still, Sherlock!”

He actually flinched but obediently his hands fell still.

For 30 seconds.

“Sherlock! Keep your hands still!”

His hands fell still again.

For 60 seconds.

John growled. “Hands on your head.”

Sherlock flinched again but obeyed.

“Now don't move them!”

It was only 20 seconds this time and Sherlock's hands were running through his curls.

“Are you going to disobey me all night?” He had said he wanted this!

“I've been knelt here hours!”

“Sherlock, it's been less than 10 minutes.”

“Oh.” He was sure it was longer than that. John had shouted at him in that deep Dom voice 4 times! That had to be over a longer period of time than 10 minutes?

Maybe he did need a physical incentive. Nothing hard or heavy duty just his hand, the personal touch. “Come over here and lean over my lap.”

Curious, but with enthusiasm Sherlock shuffled over. John pulled him up over his lap, holding him down with his right hand he positioned him with his lap before laying the first blow.

He had expected some struggling or squealing from the younger man. But he didn't even grunt.

After the 30th hit of his open hand on the detective's back side he rubbed his back softly in small circles.

He hadn't uttered a sound or cried out which John found impressive if a little worrying. Maybe it had been too much?

“You alright, ba0be? How was that?”

Even more concerned at the lack of response John manoeuvred Sherlock so he could sit up on the chair, but instead he fell back to his knees, almost bonelessly.

John quickly cupped his cheeks and tilted his head back. He exhaled a breath he wasn't aware he had been holding at the look on Sherlock's face, a big wide grin.

“You brat, you had me worried!” He shook him. “Was that alright?”

Sherlock nodded, he seemed almost dopey, not quite with it.

“Are you still feeling guilty?”

His eyes closed and he ducked his head as he shook it. “No, John.”

He clapped his hands and the kneeling man jumped.

“Good! Go and stick the kettle on then.”

***

“Do you fancy a walk, babe?” John asked from the door. It was a few hours later and Sherlock had been soppy for half that time. The doctor was stood holding both their coats.

Sherlock cracked an eye open from his position on the sofa, where he was laying on his stomach, his head resting on his hands and his legs dangling out.

“My bum hurts. You did a number on my arse, Captain.”

“Ooh. Say that again.”

“Captain?”

“I like that. No more John,” he said making the decision on the spot. “Unless we're out of course. But here… this could be good.”

“But John-”

“Ah, Sherlock, are we out?”

He smiled slightly. “No, Captain.”

“Now get your arse up and let's go out for dinner, my treat.”

Sherlock thought that through. “You mean you're going to make me sit-”

The evil glint in John's eye was answer enough. “You're a cruel man, Captain Watson.”

“Just making sure the lesson has sunk in properly. Come on.”

“Is that an order? Captain?”

“Get your arse over here or I'll smack it again.”

The younger man actually laughed at that but rolled off the sofa with a badly concealed wince and wandered over to his partner he stooped to kiss him quickly.

John went to put his coat on for him and Sherlock shook his head.

“Shouldn't that be my job? Sir?” He offered, seemingly meaning it. Something so simple yet…

“Ohh, I like that even more.” The way Sherlock said it sounded like a purr. “And maybe you're right.” He threw the detective's Belstaff over the chair and pressed his jacket into his arms. “You can dress me in the morning too.”

The detective's eyes blew at that and he grinned as he held the coat up for him and the doctor shrugged into it.

Then he held his hand out but John shook his head.

“On your knees.”

Sherlock dropped without a second thought, his head falling forward respectfully.

John grabbed him by the curls and pulled him to his feet before kissing him, a lot more full on than Sherlock had moments before, but he led it and the taller man let him.

The second time Sherlock offered him his hand, he took it.

***

They were half way to Angelo's when it happened.

It was dark and there was no street lights about, a black sedan pulled up beside them and Sherlock groaned. Mycroft!

Except, 2 men jumped out. One went for Sherlock and held him back and the other grabbed John, dragging him towards the car.

It was then then realised it wasn't Mycroft.

“Sherlock-”

“John-” Sherlock fought to get away and as soon as he was let go he ran to the handle and began tugging, but the door was locked and the car sped off.

“John!”

 


	3. Wrong Assumptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> who was behind the mysterious car?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by sherlockian4evr

John awoke on a hard wooden chair, his head throbbing. He clenched his eyes shut tightly before looking around the dimly lit room and taking stock of his surroundings. His arms were behind him and handcuffed together, but apart from that he felt in one piece. Physically at least. His head was spinning 100 different facts around at once and he felt like what he imagined Sherlock felt working a case. He couldn't comprehend what had happened. He had decided it couldn't be Mycroft, given the manhandling at the start of all this and the fact that they left Sherlock behind. Where was Sherlock? What the hell did these jerks want?

He had no idea how long he had been out for and there was nothing to give him any idea, given the dark room and the fact he couldn't reach his watch.

The room seemed oddly familiar, even in silhouette.

The door to the side of him opened and a familiar looking umbrella appeared before anything else.

“Mycroft, you moron!” He yelled, struggling slightly. Why was it whenever he was tied to a chair, despite the fact he knew who had put him there now, did he have to fidget? Why couldn't he sit still? It would make his situation look a lot better.

“Please, do be quiet, Doctor Watson.”

“Doctor Watson? You haven't called me that in years. And why the fuck am I tied to a chair?” He growled.

The older man paced towards him and stopped just out of kicking distance. Rightly so, John thought. Kicking the British Government in the crotch probably wasn't the right way to go about things, therefore he had to ignore his anger.

Mycroft just paced around him and then froze again.

“Seriously Mycroft, I have been in a relationship with your brother for 9 years. What the fuck is going on?!”

“I know what you did to Sherlock,” he said simply. His tone was dark and the usual expressionless features of his face were twisted into something of a disapproving scowl.

“Again with the power complex. I thought Greg had sorted that!”

“You are 'tied to a chair' because I know you hit my brother.”

“Hit him? Hardly the term I would use. But yes. I put him in the corner and spanked his arse.”

“Why would you 'spank his arse'?” Mycroft appeared horrified at the idea, like he couldn't comprehend it.

John sighed and his head ducked. “Because he was feeling guilty.”

Mycroft still didn't seem to understand, something he didn't really appreciate.

“Tell you what, untie me and I'll tell you what you want to know.”

“No. It took you 9 years for you to gain my brothers trust and now you're abusing it! I'll be damned if I let you out of this room in one piece!” Mycroft was angry. His normal calm persona, the person he had worked so hard to be, came undone at the thought of his baby brother being harmed. In a way, John found the situation sweet and more often than not, the protectiveness of the British Government was indeed helpful, seeing as the resources he had at his disposal. However, as much as he had trusted Mycroft, nearly as much as he trusted Sherlock this time yesterday, after what he had just said he didn't really see a way out of this. He would try anyway, but once Mycroft had an idea of something he was very hard to convince of something different.

“Abusing it? Mycroft, have you heard yourself?”

There was no chance for Mycroft to respond as there was yelling from outside his office. Actually, speaking of a way out…

John sighed in relief. Sherlock! It wasn't that Mycroft scared him… usually. He could just be wilful when he thought someone was harming his little brother, and wilfulness in a Holmes often led to catastrophic results.

The sounds of Anthea's protests could be heard, but they were clearly ignored as the door swung open to reveal Sherlock, his collar up and his coat flailing behind him frantically.

John didn't care if he was being a drama queen, he had never been more pleased to see him.

“Sherlock?” His brother was worried as well as wary.

“Piss off, Mycroft.”

He walked passed his brother and pushed him, hard, so he collapsed back into the chair behind him. Then he crouched down and cupped John's cheek. “You alright?”

John grinned. “I am now you're here.”

“Well, I would have got here faster if you hadn't have pummelled my arse so hard.”

John's grimace was the answer to the question Sherlock hadn't yet asked.

He didn't act on it. Not yet at least. He moved to the handcuffs and began unpicking them with his usual lock picking set. Then he acted on it.

“Mycroft, what the bloody hell were you thinking?!”

“I- I…” Watching his brother, he realised now the mistake he had made. Sherlock wasn't cowering from the army doctor. He wasn't even hesitant in the slightest as he released him and the way he cupped his cheek was the way Greg did to him

At the end of a long day, it was nothing short of fondness.

Growling audibly, he marched over to the door and slammed it open. “Anthea, find the 3 men on duty on surveillance at Baker Street, fire them all and abandon them somewhere in Viet Nam. With strict instructions that if they come near me or my brother again, they won't be near us very long.”

John heard a distant, “Yes, sir,” from the older man's secretary. She was obviously used to seeing emotions on the British Government as she did nothing but begin to put a plan in place to act on her boss's orders.

He turned back to his brother and John noted immediately how his shoulders were a lot more rounded than usual. He seemed resigned to the fact that he was wrong.

“John, Sherlock, my apologies,” was all he said.

“Not good enough!” Sherlock snapped. “It could have been anyone in that car. If you wanted to speak to us, why didn't you do it normally? No. You just assumed. Like you always do. I have known this man 10 years. 10 fucking years, Mycroft. Do you really think someone could keep me fooled that long? I asked him for this! I needed this! And look what he gets in response to helping me, like he always does! My prick of a brother getting him kidnapped.”

John sat on the chair, but his hands were in front of him and that fear that had previously been there, as well as the thought of Mycroft being sweet and protective, was no longer bubbling away at the surface. No. Now he was angry.

“Sherlock, I'm sorry. My men said you were being hit… I…”

“Assumed the worst. Well that bloody surveillance can get the fuck out of our flat. Anymore microphones I find will have so much feedback sent down them it will deafen anyone who's listening.”

Sherlock took a few paces towards his brother when he looked like he was going to argue, but John was behind him in milliseconds resting his hand on his shoulder.

“C'mon, babe, I believe I was buying you dinner.” John couldn't remain on top of his temper as well as keep Sherlock's in line at the moment. He needed an escape.

“I don't feel much like eating now.”

“Tough. You promised me you would do what I say. I say you are going to sit at Angelo's with me and eat a sufficient meal.”

Sherlock turned from glaring at his brother and took in the shorter man. He had bounced back incredibly fast and was taking control again, something he hadn't been willing to do a few hours ago. It came naturally to him. “That's an order, Sherlock,” he added watching him carefully for any signs of argument.

Sherlock's eyes blew with lust. “Yes, Captain.” He was taking control of the situation again. This was good. This was what he needed so he didn't go too far. And good old brilliant John appeared to be more than willing to provide.

“Brother, wait-” the older Holmes tried again, more than aware he had well and truly screwed up.

“What Mycroft? If you make me stay in your company much longer, I will not be responsible for my actions.”

“Understood. I would just like to say, the two of you… in a relationship such as…”

“Me putting him on the naughty step when he deserves it.”

 _You better hurry up Mycroft because his temper won't hold out much longer_ , Sherlock thought but he said, “Among other things.”

“I um…” he stumbled for the right words. “Well, I can see this working out. And brother-mine, do not fret. I'll have the microphones deactivated and removed within 24 hours.”

“No. Within 4 Mycroft. I'm taking him out for dinner. They'll be gone by the time we get home.”

He didn't offer a verbal response, but tilted his head on one side in acknowledgement as he watched his brother leave with John's hand at the small of his back.


	4. Rules

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by sherlockian4evr

“Sherlock, if you really want this, I won't go easy on you.”

“I know.” At John's raised eyebrow, he added a belated 'Captain'.

They were laying back in bed, both holding a cup of tea, and there was a plate stacked with toast on John's lap. All of this had been made by Sherlock, much to his disgust, but John had pulled the 'that's an order' card and he had never seen the younger man move so fast.

There was one problem. The 'that's an order' card didn't work on making him eat. The only thing that worked on making him eat was if John physically forced food into his mouth. On the plus side, he was more than willing to do so.

“Open. Chew. Swallow.”

This went on for a while, despite Sherlock's protest as he had been preparing breakfast (shouting through the rooms) saying he could chew and swallow his food without an order. They both secretly knew he liked it.

“Go and wash up, then, babe. I think it's about time we come up with some rules.”

“Rules?”

John cleared his throat.

“Captain?”

“Better. And yes, rules. As well as consequences.”

“Can't you just tell me off when I'm bad?”

“Of course I will tell you off when you're 'bad', but what constitutes as 'bad'.”

“Something you don't like.”

“There are things you do that worry me, Sherlock. I'm not going to lie, but some of it is you. I'm not going to change you. That would be wrong, I'm doing this because you asked me to. I just want you safe and polite.”

Sherlock dropped his head and scuffed his toe into the carpet, twisting it around from one way to the other. “I need stopping, John,” he said quietly.

John glanced over from where he had been leant over to pull his socks on. His detective was looking defeated. The younger man was right. But not completely.

“I agree, but not to a great extent. It will be a few simple rules and as we go along, we may add or tweak them to suit us both, ok?”

He nodded and John stood up, moving towards him. He reached up and cupped the back of his neck before pulling him down into a hug. “This will last as long as you want or need it for, ok?”

He nodded again. The lack of verbal responses was worrying, but after the rules and the conversation Sherlock no doubt saw as 'boring', he would seem a lot better.

“Right. You can put the kettle on and clear the table off. I'm going to come up with a list of rules.”

“John- Captain…” he amended at the raised eyebrow, but didn't continue.

“We will then both go through the rules and point out anything you need explaining or if you think they're unfair.”

“They won't be. They need to be.” John's brow furrowed at that. He had contradicted himself completely in those two sentences, something he never did.

“We will go through them. Is that understood?”

Sherlock's mouth opened and closed a few times before he nodded and murmured a quiet “Yes, sir.”

John was settled in the armchair as he wrote down the rules he had been thinking of overnight. He could hear Sherlock clattering about in the other room as he tidied away everything he was supposed to. When he heard two mugs being placed on the table, John looked over and smiled before joining him.

“The quicker we do this, the quicker it'll be over.”

Sherlock nodded and took the offered piece of paper before reading.

Listen to John and his commands. If you think one is unfair, pick a code word and we can discuss it.

“So what do you think?”

Sherlock nodded. “I may… struggle at times. Sir.”

“Struggling is fine. Blatantly ignoring me will be punished.”

“Punished how?”

“We'll go through that in a minute.”

“What if we're out?”

“That is the second time you have failed to respect me.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. I meant… What if we're on a case or doing the shopping, sir?”

“I still expect my commands to be obeyed, without complaint. If I order you to do something, it will almost definitely be for your own good. If I'm unfair or you think something that has happened is wrong, you use your code word. Which, on to that, you need to pick one.”

Sherlock thought for a moment. “Sussex. Sir.”

“Very well. Sussex it is. By the way, this also includes things like helping out with the housework, the shopping and so on.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Next one.”

The detective looked down again to read the next line.

No crazy decisions at crime scenes.

“That means no running off into trouble alone. You will always call for backup. That includes not attempting to prevent me if I do so. Keep the criminal activities at crime scenes to a minimal. This means no breaking and entering. If you need in somewhere, the chances are Greg can get a warrant and you can do it legally and with backup.”

“That's fine. Sir.”

Honesty. Do not lie. Ever. I can tell when you are!

“Can we amend this one?”

“Amend it how?” John wasn't going to be dragged into changing the rules just because the brat didn't like it. The reason needed to be valid, therefore he was sceptical, to say the least, but he had agreed to hear him out.

“Lying is a fundamental part of my job at times.”

“Fair enough. It needs to benefit a case in a positive way and you need to have discussed it with someone first, whether that be me or Greg…”

“I can't always…”

“You can inform one of us at the earliest opportunity, but you never lie to me and you never lie to Greg by withholding evidence or anything of the sort.”

“Alright, sir. That seems fair.”

John shivered at the tone Sherlock used and he couldn't help but take his hand on the table. “You wanted rules and limits, babe. This is how it has to be. I'm not throwing you over my knee willy-nilly.”

“I know, John.” The sincerity in those words told John he meant it.

Talk to me.

“Talk to you. That's a bit vague John.”

“It's meant to be. If you're in a sulk there is almost a 100% chance that I can help with whatever it is you're sulking about.”

“I do not 'sulk'.”

“You do, babe, and you do quite a good job of it.”

The corner of Sherlock's mouth tugged up into a smile.

“If something is bothering you, I can help. Keeping it bottled up will more than likely get you in trouble.”

“Ok, but can I add something?”

“Of course.”

“This has to run both ways. If you've had a bad day at work I need to know.”

John pondered it for a moment and realised Sherlock was right. This relationship- any relationship, was built on trust.

“Ok.” He took the paper and scribbled the extra bit of information down.

Address John as sir or Captain when at home and/or alone.

“I like this rule. Captain.”

John smirked behind his mug of tea.

Eat a decent meal at least twice daily. Non-negotiable.

“John-”

“Nope. You will eat a decent quantity of nutritional food, even on a case. You've basically given yourself up to me on a plate, therefore I want you healthy.”

At long last the detective nodded, cradling his tea. “Yes, sir.”

At least 6 hours sleep every night. Non-negotiable.

“Even on a case, Sherlock,” the doctor said before he had a chance to argue that one as well.

He nodded.

“That's it,” John said, grinning. “Wasn't so bad, was it? Now punishments…”

“Can they be at your discretion, sir?”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, I trust you enough to do this in the first place and I know you don't want to and would never hurt me. I would rather not know what the punishment is. My brain works at 100 miles an hour as it is.”

“Ok. Well, you type that up. I've got a missed call from Greg. I better see what he wants.”


	5. Apologies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by Sherlockian4evr

Greg had a couple of cold cases he needed dealing with. Seeing as the guy the duo had apprehended the day before had confessed, he had nothing else on. For once, however, the detective was just sat in a chair reading a book, not being irritating, not playing up because he was bored. Content.

The doctor couldn't remember ever seeing the younger man just stop and do something calm, such as reading, and something in him told him that it would be best to leave him there until he got up and started pacing around, demanding attention.

Except the getting up and pacing around, demanding attention didn't come and at lunch time when a sandwich was placed on his lap. He looked up and grinned. “Thanks, sir.”

John grinned. Not only had he acknowledged food, he'd been polite and remembered to address him correctly. He ruffled his curls, “Good boy.” It came out before he realised what he had said and before he could prevent it. Sherlock's head snapped across to look at him, his eyes wide. John bit his lip nervously and went to open his mouth to… apologise? But got cut off by Sherlock's grin.

“I- sorry, Sherlock.”

“Sorry?” He frowned. “For what?”

“You… you liked it?”

The grin was answer enough and he turned to tuck into his sandwich. Well, John had always known that the younger man loved praise, he thrived on it, but now it seemed like the perfect way to let him know he was doing good.

When he'd finished his sandwich, he turned to John and offered to take his plate into the kitchen. The doctor nodded gratefully, surprised once more by the helpful detective. Deciding to test a theory, he gave a few minutes for the plates to be put away, clean, seeing as he had heard the taps run and the last part of soap squirt from the bottle, before he called through.

“Babe? I need to go to the shop. We're out of practically everything. Do you want anything?”

He appeared rather sheepishly at the door. Sheepishness was not a usual expression on the younger man's face and it made him look so small and innocent. John stood up to try and fix the problem, instead Sherlock seemed to shrink slightly more.

“Can I come?”

“I'm sorry?”

“With you? I mean… to the shops. It could be twice as fast. And you said I need to help with the boring things.”

“Greg's got some old cases, if you want to go to the Yard instead?”

He shook his head. “Please, John. Can I come with you?”

“Ok. Well, we can pop out, then come back and drop the shopping off and I'll come with you to New Scotland Yard. How does that sound?”

“Good. Sir,” he added, then realised he had forgotten himself. “I… Sir… I-”

“It's alright, babe,” the doctor interrupted, not willing to make him panic over this, they were both new to the circumstances after all. “You already told me you might struggle and I said if you blatantly disobeyed me, then you were in trouble. You didn't blatantly disobey me by forgetting did you?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

“No, sir!”

“Good. C'mon then. The quicker we get there, the quicker we can get back and go see Greg.”

Sherlock helped the doctor on with his coat and then located his own. “Good boy,” John praised him, once again ignoring that feeling of being an idiot. The beam Sherlock responded with was worth feeling an idiot. He held his hand out and the detective took it tentatively.

They headed around the corner of Baker Street, as the store was less than half a mile away.

“We need salt, John.”

“Salt, babe. Why salt? I bought a tub the last time.”

“I er… see, salt is a very important part of many of my experiments.”

The doctor laughed. “Fair enough.” Then he froze, but Sherlock kept walking and ended up jerking back on the hand he hadn't let go of.

“John? Captain?” He tried, following his line of sight to the black sedan that had pulled up beside the road 20 yards ahead. They both knew what that was about.

“C'mon. I don't want to talk my arse of a brother.” He tugged his blogger’s hand and had a quick look both ways on the road.

John couldn't help but watch the black car out of the corner of his eye as they disappeared around the corner and it pulled away. He could imagine the British Government's face in the back of the car and smiled grimly.

It seemed that wasn't the last of Mycroft's attempts. On the way out of the store, Sherlock's arms laden with bags – he'd insisted on carrying them – Mycroft was waiting beside the door. He was stubbing out a cigarette.

“Oh, Mycroft, piss off,” Sherlock growled.

“Sherlock, if you are going to swing a punch,” John interrupted as he had headed towards the older Holmes brother at pace. He placed his hand on his shoulder. “Make sure you give me the bag with the eggs rather than dropping them.”

Those words alone seemed to calm the detective considerably.

“I'm sorry, John. I don't intend to drop the eggs.”

The doctor grinned. “Come on, then.”

“Sherlock, John, I… about the small misunderstanding-.”

“Bollocks Mycroft.” Sherlock cut him off. “I hope the team you had listening to our rules don't have their hearing back by now.”

“Rules?”

“Your men clearly disobeyed you, then,” Sherlock actually laughed at the look of astonishment on his brother's face. “The microphone I found under the table. Don't worry though, brother. I did what I promised.”

With that, he turned and walked away, but glanced back just in time to see the sad look flit across the British Government's face as he climbed into the back of his car. He had hurt John. He didn't care if the sod felt guilty.

***

“Ah, John, Sherlock, how are you two feeling, now?” The DI stood up on their entrance into his office.

“Good,” John responded, shooting a glare at the detective before he could be rude and roll his eyes at such simple pleasantries.

“Fine, thank you, Jeff.”

“It's Greg!”

John glanced at his bratty boyfriend to see him smirking slightly. The DI nodded. “Feeling better then, Sherlock?”

His mouth curled up on one side. “Indeed.”

“There was something I wanted to talk to you both about.” He indicated them to take a seat. “Coffee?”

“Tea please. So will he,” at the greying haired man's confused look he added, “He's high enough without caffeine forcing him on the ceiling.”

“Donovan?”

She knocked briefly before entering. “Sir?” She glared at Sherlock at the same time as speaking to the DI.

“One: you'll leave Sherlock alone for once! And two: three teas.”

“Yes, sir.” With another withering glare she closed the door behind her.

A short while later, there was a soft knock on the door and Greg called ‘enter’. First came in a tray and then the British Government. It seemed a very odd view, the most powerful man in Britain bringing in teas on a tray, if it wasn't for the circumstances it would have been comical.

Sherlock stood up at once and got between his brother and John.

“Sherlock, please.”

“Please what? Please move out of the way so that I can kidnap your boyfriend again? Give up, Mycroft! And piss off!”

“He wants to apologise. You just won't let him.”

“Too right. If I hadn't found you, you would never have believed him and never let him go. John told me everything.”

Mycroft placed the tray down and took a step towards his little brother. John could see his lover about to lash out with his fist, something he only ever saw when he was near his brother. It was so similar to earlier in the day, John did a double take to check there were no bags full of shopping around. He gently reached out and grasped his clenched fist that was hanging tense down his side, trembling faintly.

“Sit down, babe,” he said, but Sherlock could not have mistaken it for anything other than what it was; an order.

After a deep breath Sherlock slowly edged back and sat beside the doctor again. He wasn't calm, not by a long shot.

“You can let go of me, now,” he growled.

John's glare cut him off from a rant that was imminent. He reached over and grabbed the weak tea that he knew was Sherlock's and handed it to him. “Drink that.”

“No!” He slammed the mug down on the table with a sneer at his brother. Tea splashed over the side as John realised that the glare hadn't quite done enough to quell his temper. He stood up with such heavy footing John thought he was going to go through the floor.

“Sit. Down,” he growled. His tone was not to be messed with, but apparently his boyfriend disagreed.

Sherlock's glare reminded John of a school boy. If he wanted to pout like a boy, he'd be treated like a boy, whether it was in front of his brother and his boyfriend or not. He snatched Sherlock's ear out of nowhere and pulled him into the corner with enough force to send the brat flying if he let him go.

The humiliation crept up Sherlock's neck in the form of heat as he felt both Mycroft and Greg watching with no doubt morbid curiosity as John nudged his knee into the detective's own and he fell forward with a dull thud.

“Kneel there, silently, for 10 minutes,” John snarled as low as possible into his lover's ear. “If I have to repeat myself or speak to you again, we'll discuss the punishment you will receive when we get home.”

The detective's suit rose up as his fingers interlocked behind his head without John even suggesting it. He had originally said hands behind his back, but if that would focus him better then so be it. “Yes, sir,” he whispered quietly. John was sure it was only him that could hear, but knew the oldest man in the room could probably deduce what had been said, if he hadn't already heard it.

The look of admiration and guilt on Mycroft's face when the doctor turned around was enough to make him believe how sorry he really was. Judging by the partial conversation he had heard between the government official and Anthea, it hadn't entirely been his fault. He’d acted on the conclusion of misinformation.

“John I…” he trailed off watching his brother's shoulders rise and fall, their movements gradually getting softer.

“That was amazing,” Greg muttered in awe. With a small smile Mycroft leant over and tapped his chin, and the dropped jaw clamped shut.

“I must admit my failings again, John. I really do apologise for the misunderstandings of yesterday.”

As he had begun to speak, John absently pushed his hand back and gripped the tense neck of the kneeling man behind him.

He sighed, but conceded that he could understand the eldest Holmes' protective streak, given how wayward Sherlock could be.

“It's alright Mycroft, I understand. I know you won't promise me that it'll never happen again, but could you at least promise that you gather all the facts first?”

The British Government allowed another piece of emotion through in under 10 minutes, this time in the form of a small smile. “Of course.”

John glanced at his watch. “7 minutes, Sherlock,” he said as he headed back to where his tea was.


	6. Missing the Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's broken 3 of their rules and it's been less than a day! John steps things up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by sherlockian4evr

The DI had given John a folder with a load of cold cases in. The doctor had explained that Sherlock wouldn't want company immediately after the corner and in response to this Sherlock had grumbled something low in his throat and forced the older man to add another 10 minutes on.

Sherlock had been so mad not just with himself, but Mycroft as well that he'd practically missed the entire conversation going on behind him. So when he'd been grabbed by the collar by his Dom, he was more than surprised.

“Mycroft is genuinely sorry.”

“No he isn't. He's pissed off because he's got a case for me and knows there is no way I'd accept it.”

“Deduced that did you?”

“Obviously.”

“Well there was no need. If you had paid attention whilst knelt in the corner of Greg's office rather than sulking, you would know that he has a case, one you might enjoy.”

“Whatever.”

“I think that's enough of the attitude, Sherlock.”

“There is no attitude,” he sniped and then threw himself on the sofa, rolling to face the back.

“Oh no, that's not how this works.” John folded his arms across his chest but, Sherlock didn't roll back. “You wanted rules Sherlock. How many have you broken in the last few hours?”

Sherlock still didn't move. John grasped him by the scruff of the neck and pulled him off the sofa. He landed in a heap on the floor.

“This attitude of yours sucks. You are going to kneel in the corner and then you are going to be spanked with a hairbrush.”

Sherlock spluttered out a laugh. “You don't even have a hairbrush.” But John wasn't joking, he really, really wasn't joking. His arms had gone back to being folded. The detective swallowed awkwardly at the sternness in John's posture and expression.

“You've just doubled the amount I was going to give you. Now get in the corner and no more arguing with me!”

Sherlock's eyes widened in fear. A hairbrush? That had to hurt surely. “John, you can't be serious.”

This time, the doctor gripped his curls and the younger man yelled at the sharp tug initiated. He half walked, half crawled to the corner where his Dom deposited him with a clip on the back of the head.

“How long?” Sherlock asked.

John silently added 10 seconds for every second up until he realised his mistake.

***

Sherlock could sense the doctor stood behind him. No doubt stood with his arms folded, glaring at him. It wasn't his fault he had an attitude or was in a bad mood. It was bloody Mycroft's. Why did he always have to stick his big nose in? Interfere? Like John would actually hurt him… he'd shot people for him and risked going to prison. Mycroft was a moron and despite his intelligence, he had the idiotic ability to jump to conclusions. The wrong conclusions.

It felt like an hour that John was stood behind him, but he knew from experience that it was more likely a few minutes. Did John not have anything better to do? It was making him nervous, nervous to the point of his hands twitching in his hair and was he going to get an answer… oh.

“How long, sir?”

“Well you got there in the end, didn't you, genius?”

“Well if you'd said-”

He flinched again when John smacked the back of his head. “It was going to be 15 minutes, but that took you 3 minutes to work out where you were going wrong, so that's 10 seconds for every second wasted, that's an extra 18 minutes.”

Sherlock sighed. “30 minutes. I could barely sit still for 10-”

“33 minutes,” John corrected.

“But-”

“The 3 minutes you've already been there does not count, Sherlock. Now behave, or I'll double that, and double the 30 hits you are now going to get with the paddle.”

Sherlock's mouth opened to complain immediately, but he could hear the sternness in the captain's words. He meant it.

“Yes, Captain.”

The doctor sighed in relief. It had taken the brat long enough.

***

“Come out of the corner now, Sherlock. Lean over the back of the chair.”

“Did I do ok?”

“What was that?”

“Sir. Did I do ok, sir?”

John nodded. He had to concede that somehow he had managed to stay still for the half an hour of corner time. “You did very well.”

Sherlock beamed.

“You're only a third of the way through it.”

Sherlock pouted.

“Now come and lean over the chair.”

Sherlock caught sight of the hair brush on the table Mrs. Hudson's. by the look of it, the length of the hair and the colour and the way it was wrapped around the bristles and the fact there were only one or two strands- Sherlock's deductions froze there as he was grabbed by the front of the shirt. “Stop deducing, Sherlock!” John barked and then forced him horizontal over the back of the chair.

“Again, it was only going to be 15, but with your continued arguing…”

“Why 15, sir?” Sherlock asked, genuinely curious.

“It was 5 for each infraction. 3 rules you broke in less than an hour.”

Sherlock didn't know what rules they were. He could guess one that was fairly obvious, but the others…

“These 15 will be over your trousers. You can drop them for the additional punishment.”

Sherlock's mouth opened to argue, but John dropped his palm in warning. “I can lower them for the whole lot if that is what you want.”

“No, Captain. There's no need for that.”

“Then count each strike.”

“Yes, Captain.”

John picked up the hair brush and weighed it in his hand. It had been awkward to borrow it from Mrs. Hudson. She'd been around the block a few times and seeing as she knew Sherlock's hair hadn't seen a brush since his childhood, there was only a limited number of things John could be using it for.

The first strike landed on his right cheek and Sherlock gasped. That had hurt a lot more than he had anticipated. The angle, the weight and John's strength all combined. “One, sir.”

The second was symmetrical in everything, even the sound Sherlock made in response. “Two, sir.”

After the fifth strike, John paused, his breathing only slightly affected. “Five, sir.”

“What were those 5 for, Sherlock?”

“Not addressing you correctly. Sir.”

“Good boy.”

The seventh blow brought a whimper out of the detective as he stuttered, “Seven, sir.”

_Whack!_

This blow landed straight over the first and the ninth landed just over the second.

Once the tenth one landed and as John counted it off, he asked the same question again. “What were those 5 for, Sherlock?”

“I… d-don't know, sir.”

“You mean to say you've forgotten our rules already?”

Sherlock sniffed, and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Yes, sir. Sor-”

“Don't want to hear it, Sherlock!” John snapped. “7 rules, Sherlock! 7 and you can't even remember them. Let me guess. Did you 'delete' them?”

“N-No, sir. I- ow!” He yelped as the next blow landed. “Eleven, sir.”

“Oh no, no. That one doesn't count. Now go through your Mind Palace – without moving – and find the next rule that you broke.”

Sherlock swallowed around the lump in his throat.

“Sir?”

“Go on.”

“I didn't listen to you, sir.”

“Correct. You didn't. And why did I tell you you should listen to me?”

“Because it will be for my benefit.”

“That's right. You wanted this, babe. You wanted someone to stop you, someone to punish you and you came to me.”

“I know, sir. I'm sorry.

“Next 5 then.”

They came down quickly and Sherlock bit his lip to stop himself from crying out in pain.

“And those 5?”

“N-Not talking t-to you, sir. I'm s-sorry, John, I'm s-sorry,” he whimpered, tears running down his face.

“And when didn't you do that?”

“When I f-faced the b-back of the s-sofa, sir.”

“Say the word, Sherlock.”

Sherlock didn't speak and John raised the hairbrush again. He didn't straighten up, which John was expecting him to. “I was s-sulking, sir,” he stuttered.

“You were and just this morning you were telling me you don't sulk.” He rubbed soothing circles on his back and he hiccoughed slightly, trying to get on top of his sobs. “Right, trousers down then.”

“Please, sir. I'm sorry. P-Please don't give me any m-more… please, sir!” He sobbed and buried his head in the top of the sofa.

John sat down and placed the brush on the side. “Alright, babe. It's alright.” He rubbed his back again and Sherlock's face soon found its way buried into his shoulder as the doctor held him tight.

“Now if you want to get out of the last half of these, there's an extra 33 minutes in the corner.”

“Y-Yes, Captain.”

John squeezed him tight and kissed the top of his head.

“But first, the last part of your punishment. Take the hairbrush back to Mrs. Hudson.”

“Sir-”

“Nope. You can do it now or you can go to the corner first. Your choice.”

“Corner first, sir.”

“Go on-” John cut off at a knock at the door and pointedly stared at Sherlock until he moved then went to answer it. It was Greg and Mycroft.

“Mrs. Hudson let us up,” the DI offered as explanation.

“It's no problem, mate. Face the corner, Sherlock! If it concerns you, I will tell you. Is that understood?”

Sherlock nodded and turned back to the wall, wincing slightly.

“Sherlock…” John growled quietly, but the detective didn't miss the threat in those words.

“Yes, John.”

The doctor would let him have that. It would be humiliating enough with being in the corner and caught by his brother twice in one day, let alone with being reprimanded about terms of address. John saw Sherlock straighten up when he wasn't told off further.

“Tut-tut, little brother. Twice in one day.”

The intake of breath in the corner was evidence of an explosion waiting to happen and, given the fact that Sherlock was only at the bottom of John's 'good' right now, he wasn't likely to get away with much. Apparently Sherlock realised this, because he just let out the breath he had taken and straightened a little bit more. John grinned, winking at Greg and Mycroft.

“I was rather hoping I could discuss this case with my brother… but seeing as he is in the naughty corner…”

Greg punched his lover on the arm. “You can see that he's held his tongue, so why don't you give it a try or I'll put you in the other corner.”

John barked a laugh and glanced to the corner where his Holmes' shoulders were trembling.

“Come on out then, 'Lock.”

He didn't turn around. “But, sir. There's no way it's been half an hour.”

“Sherlock Holmes, are you arguing with me to stay in the corner?” John couldn't believe what had just been said. Not only that, he had used the honorific. John had done a bit of research about this last night, but there was no way he could be in 'subspace' already.

“No, sir,” he said quickly and spun around, the same time as getting to his feet. He froze as he realised they weren't alone and the two new occupants were gaping at him.


	7. The Surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's short but the other d/s fics have kind of taken over! And this felt like it needed finishing

Mycroft's growing smirk earned him a clip on the back of the head.

“Hey!” He protested. Looking over the shoulder, he saw his boyfriend, one raised eyebrow up in a silent question.

“You deserved that, Mr. Holmes,” Greg said teasingly.

The British Government sighed in defeat. He walked across to the sofa, dodging out of the way of his little brother and sank into a seat.

“I assume you've come to speak about the case?” John asked. “The case you were vague about, yet 100% sure my little trouble maker would enjoy.”

Mycroft nodded, reaching up and pulling the greying haired man down to his lap.

John grabbed Sherlock by his shirt, pulling him across the room and down onto his own lap in his chair.

“Well then, speak.”

“It's a holiday, Sherlock,” Mycroft responded, not rising to the bait.

The detective frowned around his glare at the elder Holmes. “Boring.”

“Oi,” John smacked his thigh and made a point to shift his legs to rub against his surely bruising arse.

He bit his lip to hold in his whimper. “If Mycroft can be annoying, so can I.” He folded his arms and pouted.

The doctor looked to Greg. With a nod the DI leant forward and smacked Mycroft on the back of the head.

“What the hell did I do?”

Sherlock burst out laughing. “Thanks Gavin.”

“It's Greg!”

He winked. “A holiday, then, brother dear, doing what?”

“I need you and John to come with me and my gorgeous Gregory to America.”

Sherlock shifted on the doctor's lap, immediately regretting it. He had the urge to kneel in front of the blond, kneel for him and rub his head into his leg, but he refrained himself. “Why?” He asked instead.

Mycroft smiled, then shrugged before saying lightly, “They have better amusement parks than we do.”

John had to admit that arguably the best theme park in the UK was Alton Towers and compared to the sizes of some of the rides in America… he jumped in his seat, jolting the detective.

“We're going,” John answered for the pair of them.

“Where's the case?” Sherlock asked with a frown of confusion.

“For a genius, he ain't half dumb,” the DI pointed out. He sighed, but relented. “There isn't one, you prick, it was Mycroft's way of winding you up. It appeared that it worked.”

“You seriously expect me to believe you want me, no, us,” he glanced at John, “to go on a holiday with you?”

Mycroft nodded once, trying to school his features into a serious expression. One Sherlock might actually believe.

“Come on, little brother, John's had a hard time of it lately. It's about time he had some fun. You have to come with us to look after him.”

At that, Sherlock grinned, which most surprised the other three, he should have been pouting again; shouting at basically being called a slave. “Of course I'll come. If only to look after my doctor.”

John brushed his hand through his hair. “You'll always look after me.”

“Just returning the favour,” Sherlock whispered, nibbling at his ear.

**Author's Note:**

> This will be continued, I don't know why it's not agreeing with me!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Manage Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4669766) by [sherlockian4evr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr)




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